


Full Circle

by bearonthecouch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blind Roy Mustang, F/M, Ishbal | Ishval, Post-Promised Day, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: There are parts of this that are so very familiar. There are parts of it that are entirely new.





	Full Circle

Roy burrows his face into Riza’s hair and kisses the back of her neck. She smells like sweat and sand, and she squirms a little as the hand he has at her waist slips under the hem of her tank top.

“I’m a mess, Roy,” she sighs. “I need a shower.”

“Maybe we can shower together.”

She tenses up a little, and breathes out slow. “You’re impossible,” she mutters. But in truth, she’s glad to hear the teasing. So much has happened to him, and so much has happened _here_ , that she’s still a little in awe of seeing him… happy. But he is. Watching Roy lead the reconstruction of Ishval reminds her of watching him learn alchemy at her father’s feet: he can take days to work through a complex problem, deep in concentration and unwilling to give up. But he truly loves what he’s doing. He’s making things better, just like he’d always promised that he would.

Roy sighs, his breath hot against Riza’s skin, and she gradually relaxes against his gentle presence. Their combined weight presses down onto the military cot, making it sag underneath them. There are parts of this that are so very familiar. There are parts of it that are entirely new.

Riza ducks her head and quickly pulls her shirt up and over it, and Roy hums appreciatively although she knows he can’t see her. “No shower then?” he asks.

Riza rolls her eyes, but she shifts so that she’s facing him. He lets his eyelids fall closed as though he knows she’s looking at him now, because he still doesn’t like her to see his sightless white eyes. And he probably does know: he probably heard the weight of the cot shift, and felt it, and heard the rustle of her movement… Roy may be blind, and he may not technically be a soldier anymore, but he still acts like one, hyperaware of his surroundings and capable of tracking friend and foe with unerring precision.

She puts a gentle hand on his cheek and kisses him, pressing her forehead against his. He pushes his tongue into her slightly open mouth and they settle into a slow, deep kiss, until Roy pulls away and Riza’s half holding her breath, waiting for him to make the next move.

His runs his palm up her side, until he finds the curve of her breast. This kind of slow exploration is _definitely_ new. It still makes Riza shiver. Roy worships her body with his hands, with his tongue, sometimes he presses his thumb against things he remembers are there: the birthmark just above the back of her knee, the scar tissue across her throat, the tattoo that covers her back and the old burns that deface it. His left hand splays across her upper back, brushing against that mark, as his right hand still gently cups her breast.

Riza shifts again, pushing herself closer to him, and he lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a sigh, and then slides his left hand down her spine to rest at the small of her back. “Roy…” she breathes. His right thumb circles her nipple, drawing forth a little gasp. He bends down and takes that nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth scrape against it, and Riza’s breathing speeds up and she bites her lip to keep from crying out. He licks and sucks until she’s whimpering and fisting her hand in his hair, and when he pulls away he flashes her a self-satisfied little grin. Riza smacks his upper arm. He just laughs. His laughter sends a surge of wonder through her. She’s dreamed about this, for _years_. It doesn’t seem right that it should be so easy for it to be real now.

“Ri?”

“Mmm?”

“You okay?”

She holds her breath, but nods. “Yeah. ‘Course I am.”

“You feel far away.”

She knows he doesn’t mean physically. She breathes out. And she shakes her head, although she knows that he can’t see it. “ ‘m right here, Roy.”

Right here, pressed against the warmth of his body, in the desert heat of Ishval. The two of them trying to circle back to the start.

She trails kisses down his neck, and slides her tongue under the collar of his shirt. Roy pulls her closer, and she settles onto her knees as well as she can on the unbalanced cot while he steadies her.

His fingers find the waistband of her pants, and fumble for the button at the front. She reaches around to unclasp it for him, and lifts up her hips so he can slide the garment down her legs. The fabric tangles around her knees and she lets it stay there as she pushes her underwear downward and catches Roy’s hand with her own.

“Your turn,” she murmurs. He frowns. “Come on, Roy,” she says softly. She combs through his hair with the spread fingers of one hand and uses her other hand to work the buttons of his lightweight shirt. The lack of uniform proves more than anything else that they are not at war. She’d once claimed that the war would never end, for them. But Roy is trying as hard as he can to prove her wrong.

She pushes his shirt off and leaves it in a puddle on the sheets of the cot. He undoes the button and zipper on his own pants, and then the two of them are almost entirely naked, sweat clinging to their skin, and Roy pushes Riza gently down and cradles the back of her head in his hand.

The gentleness of it takes her breath away. She and Roy have always been desperate desire; during the war it was a need to escape, to dump all their fear and guilt and self-hatred into physical release. And when he got his medical discharge and was no longer her superior officer, they’d poured six years of pent-up frustration into sex that was nearly as violent in its need.

It wasn’t until they’d come back into the desert, after nearly a year of planning and politics, that they were able to take it slow and easy. To experience not empty aching want, but fullness, and wholeness, and healing, and love.

They have never said “I love you.” They have never needed to.

But as he slides into her, she blinks against the tears in her eyes, the sudden realization that she feels like she can say it now. She gasps and whimpers and cries as he moves with her, and he’s moaning into her shoulder. She wraps her arm around him and holds him until they are both spent and breathless.

Roy pulls out, and breathes her name while he stares down at her with unseeing, open eyes.

And he has never looked more perfect, sweat-soaked and disheveled, but calm. He lets her see him.

“Roy, I love you,” she says, and it’s as natural as breathing.

He tenses up, and shakes his head slightly, not because he doesn’t believe her, but because he still doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. Especially not here, in this place that is still scarred by his destruction. There are bodies, dropped by fire and guns, buried and unburied by the constantly shifting sands all around them.

And he is blinded, and she is scarred.

And this isn’t the end. It’s a beginning.

“I love you,” she repeats.

“Me too, Ri,” he says. “I mean… I love you, too.”


End file.
